


Snip

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, THE HAIRCUT PANIC FIC, The Floofening, haircut, true love means never having to say split ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6950626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle French is desperate for funds to make repairs to her library. Every fundraiser she’s tried has failed to make even the slightest dent in the needed amount and the townsfolk are starting to get irritated with her constant pleas for money. Mr. Gold, aware of her problem, has a solution for her.</p>
<p>This was written for The Floofening. Rumbellers know what I'm talking about. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Belle French scanned the numbers again with tired eyes, but no matter how many times she added the figures, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough and there wouldn’t be enough until the city council reviewed the budget for the next year, but that was months away and she couldn’t wait that long. She needed money _now_.

The tears were starting to sting now and she willed herself not to cry during working hours. A sniffle escaped her as she looked around at her library, shabby and barely functional, but much loved. At least by her. There were lights that refused to work in the corner by the travel section, the floor sloped dangerously, there was damp in some of the windows somehow so they were permanently fogged over, something was seeping down the walls in her office and she was beginning to fear for her lungs, and the entire place needed a fresh coat of paint. It just needed some repairs and maybe a fresh coat of paint and the place could shine again.

She’d taken the job of reestablishing the library when she came to town to help her father get back on his feet after a nasty spill. At the time, it had spent years boarded up and empty save for the moldering books and broken shelves inside, but Belle loved books and the idea of starting a library from scratch seemed like a dream come true. The library project had the backing of the entire town, from the mayor all the way down to the tiniest preschooler and Belle found herself overwhelmed with offers of new books and new carpets and working computers. She thought all it would take was a little bit of effort and a lot of love before the library became a showcase for the town.

As it turned out, the money allocated to rebuilding the inventory ran out faster than she expected and the promised funds for repairs had never come — cutbacks she was told when she’d stormed a city council meeting in indignation.

Belle did the best she could with what she had, which were mostly DIY books from the reference section and YouTube tutorials. Her best friends were duct tape and WD-40, but even they had their limits and now, after three years of playing keep up, the place was crumbling around her.

She’d tried everything she could to raise awareness and funds: bake sales, yard sales, book sales, raffles, silent auctions, laying off her part-time staff, and government grants, but the combined proceeds barely made a dent in the amount she needed to fix one window let alone seven and you could forget about the sinking floor… Three years with her hand out begging for more money made her a very unpopular person in town, almost as despised as Mr. Gold, the pawnbroker and landlord and part-time loan shark.

The thought had crossed her mind more than once that she could ask him for money, but she couldn’t risk the tiny budget she had (city money no less) on the gamble that she might be able to make payments. It wasn’t worth the risk. No, she had to find the money herself or close up shop.

And she refused to close up shop.

Granny’s after nine was something of a ghost town, which was perfect for Belle’s state of mind as she locked up the library and headed for a bit to eat.

A small bite.

“Hi, Leroy!” she called out brightly, waving to the man as he stumbled out the door.

He barely glanced at her. “Broke, sister. I ain’t got anything.”

Belle blinked back the sudden onset of tears — something that had been occurring with too much frequency of late, hurt by his words. She wasn’t going to ask him for anything, she just wanted to say hi.

A moment to gather her wits and stop the flood before it began, then she pulled the door open with force and stepped into the diner.

At once the aroma of cooking food assaulted her and she took in a deep breath, filling her lungs with any calories that might be airborne. She’d used a large portion of her last paycheck to fix a leaking pipe in the men’s room leaving little for her own necessities. It would be another week before the next payday. In the meantime, she ate as frugally as possible.

Frugal meant making your own meals, but without staff to help she was on her own every day and the grocery store was closed by the time she got off work. Granny’s was closeby, however, and bagels were pretty cheap all things considered. And Ruby was still friendly at least.

“Hey, Belle,” she said, with a faint smile, pulling out her pad of paper and coming up to the counter where Belle plopped herself down. “Whatcha want?”

“Um. A bagel and cream cheese is fine,” she answered in a low voice, ashamed of her apparent poverty.

Ruby lifted a meticulously groomed brow. “Just that? What about protein?”

“Cheese is protein,” Belle protested, mentally willing her friend to drop the subject already.

“It barely qualifies,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes at her. “How about some eggs and bacon to go with it? Breakfast for dinner is one of life’s pleasures!”

Belle’s fragile smile faltered and she felt the tears come back to prick at the back of her eyeballs. “I’m not all that hungry. Just the bagel is fine,” she lied, scratching the side of her nose to hide the way the corner of her mouth was twitching. “Um… Can I get it to go?”

Ruby looked up from her pad to peer at her. “You can have it here.”

Belle saw the way she was being watched from nearly everyone in the diner. Mistrustful. People thought her greedy after everything they had already given her and she always seemed to ask for more. No, she could take her bagel and eat it in her apartment.

The door swung open then and all eyes left her to fall on the town’s number one hated person, Mr. Gold. He stopped for a moment, surveying the room before he walked straight for a stool at the counter.

“Good evening, Mr. Gold,” Ruby called out with a nervous tremor to her voice. “I’ll have your tea in just a moment.”

“Thank you, Ruby,” was his polite reply, but Belle thought she saw Ruby flinch when he spoke.

“I refuse to believe he’s that bad,” Belle whispered. “Look how nearly everyone hates me and I’m not a bad person.”

Ruby made a face at her. “No one hates you, Belle. They’re just… tired,” she said as she went to place Belle’s order and pour Mr. Gold’s tea.

Belle’s shoulders fell. “Yeah,” she said to herself. “Me, too.”

She glanced towards Mr. Gold out of the corner of her eye, fully aware that she was doing to him what people had been doing to her moments earlier, only she didn’t have any hostility in her heart. She thought he had a bum rap in town and rather liked the handsome man. She’d often thought about him, wondering if she should try to make friends with him. She was already prone to like him already, why not take that leap?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Ruby setting a small bag containing her meager dinner. Belle stared at it willing herself to get up and leave the warm diner with its food smells and chatty atmosphere. It was hard to leave this place to go back to her lonely and cold apartment where she would eat her lonely and cold dinner while she contemplated growing lonely and cold herself.

Still, she was the one who ordered it to go. She had no one but herself to blame.

Ruby leaned over the counter in front of her, hands clasped in front of her, whispering, “Have you tried Gold?”

Belle nearly snickered at the double entendre, because the thought of trying Gold had crossed her mind several times. Just not in the manner Ruby implied.

They both turned their heads to watch him sip at his tea. He seemed oblivious to their scrutiny, as if being on exhibit was just a normal day for him. Perhaps it was. It certainly hadn’t taken Belle long to get used to it.

“I don’t have anything to make a deal with,” Belle said, glumly turning back to her bag. “And even if I did, I’d have sold it already.”

“What about that grant you were working on?” Ruby asked.

“Still in review. Those things take months.” Belle pressed her lips together.

“Miss Lucas,” Gold said quietly from their left, clearly ready to order.

Ruby made a face at her in apology and moved away, pulling her pad out of her apron pocket in preparation for Gold’s order.

Belle pulled out her wallet and paid for her meal, leaving Ruby the same amount for a tip. It wasn’t much, but that was all she could afford.

 

* * *

 

 

Mr. Gold hardly ever patronized the library so it was with great surprise that Belle saw him the next morning, looking as well put together as always. His suit looked new and the shirt was a brightly colored swirl of black roses on a blue background. Belle hated herself for mentally calculating how many ceiling tiles that suit would buy, but it was becoming an automatic reaction whenever she was presented with someone who obviously had money to spare. She didn’t begrudge them their money, she just wished she had some, too.

He strode towards her confidently, his cane tapping on the linoleum with a rhythm all his own and Belle couldn’t help but admire him as he came closer. She thought he looked handsome, expensive suit or no, and the way his long hair fell down over his shoulders and hung around his face pushed all the right buttons. It looked soft and touchable and it was definitely one of his defining features. She hoped he’d come to the same conclusion she did last night and decided that they should become two against the town. A sort of Two Musketeers.

“Good morning, Mr. Gold,” she said pleasantly, smiling brightly at him. “Can I help you with something?”

He gave her a crooked smile, his gold tooth flashing momentarily before it was hidden behind those thin lips again. “Actually, Miss French, I believe it is I who could help you.”

There was that sinking pit in her stomach again. One of these days she was going to be pulled in after it and the library’s money problems wouldn’t be her problem any longer. “Um…” she hedged. “I’m not sure…”

He waved a hand at her. “It’s come to my attention that the library is in desperate need for funds.”

Belle’s laugh was borderline hysterical, but she kept it down to a slight tremoring thing while she answered. “That would be an understatement.”

“And what have you done to alleviate it?” He placed both hands on his cane and stared down at her, head tilted and a curious gleam to his eyes. He looked at her as if she was a person and not a nuisance.

She scrambled up from her desk to stand before him. Funny, she hadn't noticed that he wasn't much taller than herself. It was a comfortable height, just right for a hug should the occasion call for it. Belle faltered with a slight blush before she remembered herself and began her tour.

He seemed genuinely curious about the situation, so she took him around the library, pointing out all the damage that had accumulated over the years. She pulled out the spreadsheet showing the estimates she'd received and the total money raised and the amount spent up until now (reddening hotly when he noticed that she was funding most of the recent repairs from her own salary).

“I have Mr. Tillman and Gepetto willing to donate their time, but we still have to pay for materials and permits and it just adds up,” she said, closing her file sadly. “I’m afraid I might have to board the place up before the building becomes dangerous for the public to use. It’s on the verge of being condemned as it is.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” he said looking around the lobby with interest.

Belle hesitated, but the man had come to her… “You said you could help me?”

He nodded, giving her a mysterious smirk. “I believe I can, yes.”

That sinking feeling again, this time accompanied by a whirlwind of butterflies and she felt at war with herself. She would be in debt, but it might be worth it.

“I, uh, I don’t have much. I might be able to put my car up for collateral,” she began awkwardly, wondering how this worked.

He waved a hand at her. “I’m not looking for collateral.”

“You’re not?”

He shook his head.

She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear then wrapped her arms around herself. No one had ever spoken of Gold taking payment in the form of personal favors, but that looked like where things were heading.

How desperate was she?

“Uh, if you don't want collateral then—”

“Let's just say I have a fondness for books and, ah…” he trailed off with an embarrassed cough. “Other things. I hate to see all your hard work go to waste.”

That explained nothing, but she did feel better about the deal. “What do you plan to do?”

“Just leave it to me. I’ll be here Saturday morning and by Saturday afternoon, you’ll have your money.”

“I will?” Belle breathed, hardly believing her ears. “I can’t believe it!”

He shrugged, self-deprecatingly. “Most of it, I’m betting. Possibly all of it depending on how generous people are feeling.”

“In my experience, they haven’t been feeling very generous for about twenty-three months.”

He smiled. “People tend to give more generously when they see others do it. Or if there’s a big enough incentive. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to see to before the big event.”

He turned around and left just as abruptly as he came, leaving Belle to stare at the floor where he’d been wondering if she’d imagined the whole thing.

Saturday morning was sunny and a bit on the warm side and Belle found herself waking up for the first time in a long time with a burst of optimism. Mr. Gold had promised to help her and if Mr. Gold promised something he followed through without fail. That was one of the reasons why making deals with him was so dangerous because he followed the letter of the contract explicitly. There was no wiggle room allowed and like as not, if you found yourself defaulting on a loan, you would find yourself in dire straits and rueing the day you ever heard of the man.

But there had been no such contract, no deal, no bargain. Just a mysterious promise to help seemingly out of nowhere and she spent three sleepless nights pondering it. Why would Mr. Gold swoop down to save the day now? Why after all this time would he decide to help her?

There was no satisfactory answer that came to mind. All she could do was wait.

She opened the library on time, glancing towards the pawnshop as she fiddled with the keys but there was no Gold to be seen. An hour, then two and still he was missing and that sinking, gnawing feeling was back. It was all she could do to keep her composure as she watched the minute hand tick by. She’d never spent a more wretched morning, not even when her mother had died for she was too young to comprehend what was happening at the time — only feeling a great sense of sorrow from everyone around her.

It was the same sorrow she was feeling for her library right now.

Just before eleven, and just as she was about to pick up the phone to call Mr. Gold to see why he was delayed, he came striding in with his strong man, Dove, following behind him carrying a chair under one arm and a basket under the other. The relief she felt was immediate and she could feel the adrenaline as it jolted through her veins at the sight of them.

“Mr. Gold!” she cried, hurrying around the desk to help Dove with his burden. She set the basket down next to the chair, momentarily distracted by the objects before she looked at her would-be savior. “I thought you’d changed your mind.” She tried to smile but it fluttered helplessly as her contrasting emotions warred with each other.

He blinked at her, taken aback by her statement, his jaw slack as he stared at her. “No. No, I was waiting for the, ah, optimal time if you will.”

“Right,” she said, with a trembling hand on her stomach. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t doubt you, but I just don’t know what you have planned.”

“All in good time,” he said. He glanced out of the window and remarked, “And here they come now.”

Come they did, timidly, warily, but holding flyers in their hands as they crowded around the three of them, Belle, Mr. Gold and Dove, shouting questions at them in excited voices.

Gold held up a hand and the mob quieted down instantly. Belle stared at him wondering just what kind of sway he held over the town to accomplish that.

“You’ll all get your chance… maybe,” he began, mentally tallying the amount of people in the lobby. “But it’s going to be orderly. No shoving. No pictures or video and no _stabbing_ ,” he said, glaring at a few people in particular. “Line forms on the left.”

He waited until they started moving, forming a reluctant line before sitting down on the chair, which was placed before the circulation desk. He made a great show of pretending not to see the way people were gawking at him like an animal at the zoo.

“Ruby! What’s going on?” she asked, grabbing her friend’s arm.

Ruby’s eyes widened as she gaped at her. “You don’t know? Dove’s been handing these out all morning,” she said, thrusting the flyer into her hands. “How did you get him to agree to it?”

“I don’t...” Belle began, but she trailed off when she read the printing, clapping a hand to her mouth. “Oh my god.”

At the top was picture of Mr. Gold, his cane placed in front of him and a smirk on his face as if daring the reader to reach in and punch him out. Below it was printed:

 

> **Take a Snip at Mr. Gold**
> 
> **$20 per cut**
> 
> **All proceeds go towards the**
> 
> **Storybrooke Public Library repairs**

“You’re doing this, Ruby?” she asked, whirling on her friend.

Ruby looked at her as if she was crazy. “Sh-yuh! If I can get in on it, you bet I’m doing it.”

Belle crumbled the flyer in her fist and looked about her. The line had formed with much grumbling about who would be first, but it snaked around the stacks over and around until the library was filled with people, money in hand, waiting to cut a lock of hair off of Mr. Gold.

Do all these people hate him so much? Why? Twenty dollars, she thought as she tried to keep count. It was ridiculous. She couldn’t let him go through with it.

She rushed back to the lobby just in time to see Dove fish out a pair of golden scissors from his inside pocket and hand them to the first in line, George King, who handed Gold a crisp twenty dollar bill. Gold dropped it into a slot of the cash box he held in his lap, staring resolutely ahead, his face expressionless.

“Not too much,” Dove said, his voice a low rumble that carried throughout the building. “Mr. Gold wants to give everyone a chance.”

King snorted. “I’ll bet he does,” he muttered. But he grasped a few strands in the front and, holding the scissors as close to the scalp as possible…

Snip.

The entire town gasped in unison at the sound of the scissors.

“Ho-leee shhh—” Leroy began before someone elbowed him in the ribs.

“Next,” Gold called out after King dropped the lock of hair into the basket Dove had carried in and then they were in business.

Snip.

Snip.

Snip.

Belle ran to her chair behind her circulation desk, unable to watch as the residents of Storybrooke took their turns denuding their hated landlord. She hid her face in her crossed arms, flinching with every snip until she’d become numb to the sound of the heavy scissors slicing through Gold’s hair and the slide of money inserted into the cash box. She didn’t know what possessed him to sacrifice his hair like this and she couldn’t bring herself to be grateful, not yet. She’d save the gratitude when the repairs were finished, right now she was mourning his hair.

“Last one,” Dove called out to the groans and whining of the people who were still waiting their turn. “And if you already have your cash in hand, you are welcome to donate it to the library.”

More grumbling as the remainder realized that they had been denied their cut and now they were being shamed out of their money, but Belle didn’t care now. They had been merciless against him, not lining up to help the library but to humiliate Mr. Gold and Belle felt herself resent the town more than she ever had before.

It wasn’t until the last person left, and it was just the three of them again, that Belle dared to look up, but of course Mr. Gold had been sitting and was below her line of sight. She got up on shaky legs and rounded the desk warily, trying to brace herself for the sight to come.

It was awful. Had it been done by a barber, it would be fine, but they had just grabbed what they could and cut where they wanted and the resulting stubble was as uneven as it was ugly.

“Oh, Mr. Gold,” she sobbed with her hands covering her mouth. “What did they do?”

He didn’t look at her at first, either ashamed or embarrassed at his display, but, now that the mass of hair was shorn off, she could see exactly how his cheekbones cut sharply across his face and the way his crooked nose pointed downwards to his long, thin lips. It was the first time she’d seen his ears and she marveled at the slight point to the curve of the tips. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his face, so changed without his hair. Handsome as always, but changed, too, as if it wasn’t Gold sitting in front of her, but a brother.

He turned to look at her, anxious and a bit sheepish, his warm eyes, so expressive in ordinary times, held her in sway. She felt the air rush out of her lungs at the sight of them.

“It’s just hair, Miss French,” he said, fiddling with the gold ring he wore. “It grows back.” He ran a hand over the uneven stubble with a rueful look. “I think I’ll have to have this evened out a bit in the meantime.”

“I don’t understand why you did this,” Belle said, her voice tremulous, looking up at him through tear-soaked lashes. “I don’t understand it, but I can’t thank you enough,” she told him, grasping at his hand.

He pulled his hand away with a soft smile then cleared his throat before he looked away, brushing stray hairs off his jacket.

“I’ve promised you funds,” he reminded her, looking at her as if she was precious. He blinked and it was gone, but the effects of it lingered in her heart.

“There’s no thanks necessary.” He handed her the box, which she clutched against her chest, then he pulled out his sunglasses from his inner pocket, flipping them open and sliding them on. “Have a good afternoon, Miss French. I look forward to watching the library return to its former glory.” He nodded to Dove, who picked up the chair and the basket, now filled with Gold’s hair.

Belle watched them leave, her heart full to bursting, certain that no matter what happened to the library, she would do her best to make sure Mr. Gold knew that someone in town was happy he was there. She would deposit the money after taking a count, make the necessary calls to Mr. Tillman and Gepetto, then she would pay Mr. Gold a long overdue visit.


	2. Bobbed

Gold ran a hand over the short back and sides of his head still mildly shocked that it was all gone. He didn’t regret it, but it was still a shock when he caught his reflection in the many, many shiny objects surrounding. He hadn’t actually realized just how many reflective surfaces were in his shop until that first afternoon when he walked back from the library and he saw how choppy and uneven his hair was. It was unnerving, even after he’d had his hair fixed at the barbers — very nearly buzzed — but even though it was only hair, and it would, technically, grow back, there was a reason why he wore it long in the first place.

He didn’t know if his forehead had always been so large or his face so wide or if it was just the newness of his shorn locks but he found that he couldn’t look at his face for any given length of time now. Nevermind, he’d get used to it soon enough.

He glanced toward the library as he unlocked the door, but it was still very early and it wasn’t due to open for another hour or so. He noticed with pride that the windows had already been replaced the day before, and they were all gleaming and, more to the point, transparent, allowing much needed natural light into the building. He’d heard through the grapevine that the roof work had gotten underway already and the dank smell in the back corner by the toilets had been eradicated for good.

He’d also noticed that Miss French’s walk had become lighter in step and that she smiled more now that the burden of repairs had been lifted from her shoulders.

Worth every lock of hair.

She’d tried to talk to him several times after his dramatic fundraiser, but he’d adroitly avoided speaking to her in private, keeping their interactions public so as to avoid any unnecessary thanks he was sure she was dying to convey. It made him uncomfortable having Belle indebted to him. He did it for her, yes, but he didn’t want her gratitude, he just wanted her to be happy and if he could provide the means, then he would do so. Simple as that. She didn’t need to know anything more about it.

He set about his opening tasks: turning on the lights, adjusting the air conditioning, making tea, then he got out the accounts ledger as he prepared for a slow day of waiting to close before he went out to collect rent. He would break for lunch around noon and close up shop around five, then he’d go about his rounds. No one would come in on rent day. No one ever did, which was why the sound of the bell over his door ringing merrily made him nearly spill his tea.

He looked up at the odd sound, frowning at the disturbance, but the frown faded into a grimace of confusion when he saw Belle French walk in, looking this way and that as if she was afraid someone would see her in his shop. Perhaps she didn’t realize that people just didn’t come to see him on rent days.

She closed the door behind her with a sharp “snick” then turned the bolt home, locking it.

Or, he realized with a sinking feeling, she did.

“How may I help you, Miss French?” he asked, his voice careful and modulated as if her strange behavior was nothing out of the ordinary and that his heart wasn’t beating wildly in his chest.

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion at first then she seemed to deflate into herself, her shoulders slumping before she sniffed out, “Why?”

His fingers tightened their hold against the counter at the sight of her distress, but he held firm. There was no pretending that he didn’t know what she was talking about, but neither was there any answer to her question. He did it because he wanted to.

He shrugged, looking at his teacup, sitting haphazardly on its saucer, and carefully set it back in the center again. He moved the handle a bit so it would be easier to grasp, then back again as it was aesthetically displeasing that way from where he stood. Why indeed?

“Why not,” he asked her, looking up finally.

She’d snuck up to the counter during his reverie, closer than she had ever been before, her eyes were swimming with unshed tears as they roamed over his face, examining every inch of his butchered hair as if it the ghost of his shorn locks could be seen.

She reached for her purse just then, sniffling loudly as she dug into it, searching for something in its ridiculously large dimensions. “I can’t—”

He backed away from the counter, that sinking feeling gone — the hole it had eaten through his guts was filling with molten lead. “I don’t need your money, Miss French,” he began. “Or your thanks, or your gratitude or your—”

He broke off when she slapped a pair of scissors onto the glass countertop with a clatter, taking half a step back to glare at him. He stared at them in confusion then looked back at her. He didn’t understand, there was no more hair left to cut.

“What is this,” he asked, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears, harsh and breathy. He began to feel the stirrings of anger now, not a foreign feeling for him, but so far, it had never been directed at the librarian before. He didn’t think it would ever be directed towards her. Turns out he was wrong and along with the anger came the bitter pill of disappointment. He thought she was better than the rest of them. “Do you want me to shave the rest?”

“New deal,” she said, tilting her chin up defiantly. “You are going to cut my hair.”

He didn’t know he could feel his face drain of color, but it felt as if someone turned on a tap and all his blood dropped down to his toes. He grabbed at the edge of the counter, reeling. “I’m sorry?” he asked, sure that he’d misheard her.

“I’m making a deal with you. I want you to cut my hair.”

He glanced behind her towards the library, where a small crew was busy on the roof, doing… something important. He watched them for half a second before turning back to Belle.

“You need more money?” That had to be the only explanation. He reached into his jacket for his checkbook, but she reached out and gently pulled his arm back. Her hand slid down to his where she stroked the back of his hand with the soft pad of her thumb. His eyes flickered closed for the briefest of seconds at the sudden contact before he forced them open again to stare disbelievingly into her eyes.

“I don’t need more money, you’ve given enough,” she said, pulling his hand closer.

Gold seriously doubted that, the library was a money pit.

He gulped for a breath, his eyes drawn to their hands, licking his lips as he stared at the strange sight. His hand was dangerously close to bits of flesh that he had only dreamed about. All he had to do is reach out with one finger and he would be able to stroke the soft swell of her breast that peeked out from the top of her thin blouse. He curled his fingers into a tight ball, letting his nails bite into his palms. He expected to find bloodied little half moons embedded into his flesh once she left, but it was best not let temptation get a foot in the door. She was too tempting, too close.

“I don’t want to cut your hair,” he said, looking back into her wide, blue eyes. “I am afraid I don’t understand.”

“I want to make a deal with you,” she said with great patience. “You cut my hair, but in return you have to give me something.”

He knew he looked stupid just staring at her, but, even though he knew all those words, he had a problem figuring out what they meant. “But if you don’t want money...”

“A kiss,” she whispered.

The breath whooshed out of his body, sending the small tendrils framing her face flurrying back. His eyes roamed over her chestnut hair hanging down in a mass of curls down to her waist. She had a lot of hair. He could imagine trimming each curl a fraction at a time, drawing it out indefinitely. It would give him an infinite number of kisses. They’d starve to death before he would be through. It was the best way to go that he could think of.

“Can’t I just… I don't know—” He made a vague gesture that meant nothing at all, but he was too confused to to think. She wanted him to cut her _hair_. She wanted him to _kiss_ her. Behind the counter, out of sight, he put more weight on his bad ankle expecting to wake up from some heat-induced hallucination. He winced as the pain shot up his leg, but Belle stood before him, her forehead wrinkled in concern and he knew that this was, in fact, happening.

“No, this is a solidarity thing. I want people to know that what they did to you was cruel. And I-I also want you to kiss me,” she confessed, shyly. Her cheeks colored, a splotch of pink on each cheek like a Rorschach Valentine

“You _do_?” he breathed, unsure of everything now. He’d never dreamed this would be possible. His younger self would already be mentally composing letters to Penthouse Forum, but he’d lived in the world long enough to know that this type of situation, while they may happen, did not happen to him and he could do little more than stare at her open-mouthed.

“A lot.”

“How much—” he swallowed. “How much is a lot?”

In answer, she slid the scissors towards him. “This much.”

That much was too much, he thought and he looked back at her, panicking.

She stood up on her tiptoes and, in a startling moment that had his toes curling in his shoes,  softly pressed her lips to his in a sweet kiss that had him leaning for more as she pulled away. “First one’s free.”

His lips tingled where she’d touched them, but he still had enough presence of mind to give her a little smirk. “I thought the kisses were the payment?”

“You're right,” she said, seriously. “I should give it back.” And she reached up again, skimming her mouth against his for a few glorious seconds before she pulled back, eyes shining with something he dared not name.

His eyes flicked to a strand of hair, twisted about itself in a soft coil that hung against her cheek. “You’re sure?” he asked, picking the scissors up.

She nodded, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. “Yes. Do it,” she murmured.

Her hair was soft and it curled around his finger as he separated a strand — a quarter the width of his pinkie finger — from the rest, the scissors poised, he stroked the sharp tip down from her scalp until he reached a place near her chin. Pulling the strand taut, he snipped it, catching it as it fell. The strand, released from his fingers, bounced up near the top of her ear, higher than he anticipated now that the weight of the hair had been relieved.

Oh. Shoot. He’d have to make longer cuts. He looked at her face, eyes roaming over her features, dumbstruck with how beautiful she was. She was so close that he could see the individual lashes framing her eyes and a few faded freckles scattered across her nose.

“First one’s free,” he whispered hoarsely, as he shook out his pocket square, placing the lock inside where it coiled like a sleepy little snake and folding the silk around it carefully. He looked at her as he tucked it back into his pocket. Her breaths were coming out in short gasps as her eyes went from the pocket to his face. Then she put the scissors back in his hand and waited.

He knew now not to pull her hair down to snip, so he just let a strand lay across the tips of his fingers and cut it.

“That one I’m gonna have to charge you,” she said, leaning forward with her palms flat on the counter. She didn’t come any closer, letting Gold take that last inch for himself. Her eyes fluttered closed and her face lifted to his.

It was, officially, their third kiss — a soft brush of his lips against the corner of her mouth just where it was wont to curve up when she smiled. He breathed her in as he lingered. She smelled of roses and the slightly musty smell of faded pages of old books. She sighed as he pulled away, a happy content sound that went straight to his old heart, jolting it into hammering against his chest like a bird trapped in a cage.

His hair was short and bristly now and several strands of her hair came with him, caught against the side of his head like velcro. He smiled at the side, tilting his head to the side as he brushed them away, watching as Belle gave a soft, shy laugh.

“Sorry,” she murmured, turning her head back to him, accidentally bumping his chin with her nose.

“I don’t mind,” he told her, half a smile playing on his lips. He stared at her still not sure why Belle was allowing him to kiss her, but he wasn’t going to question it. Not now at least. He felt dizzy as if he’d been put under a spell, a warm, loving spell that dulled everything around them except for the two of them alone.

Their voices were low in the stillness of the shop and Gold was loathe to break it so he skimmed her hair looking for another lock to cut. Something that wouldn’t be too noticeable. There was a perfect curl peeking out from just under her the thick canopy of hair, lying against her collarbone that would do.

He inched the tip of the scissors along the curl until he found a likely spot. It still sprung up high when he snipped it, but not as extreme as the first.

He held it up, showing her his handiwork.

“Are you going to p—” she began, but he cut her off, crushing his mouth against hers in a desperate, messy kiss that elicited a soft moan as her eyes closed. He plucked at her bottom lip as he pulled away, sucking at it softly as it slipped from his lips.

Her eyes fluttered open and he was amazed to see that their clear, bright blue color had darkened, her pupils dilated wide as she stared up at him. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat convulsively as the ramifications washed over him.

Belle wanted him.

Why or how, he had no idea. Perhaps it was gratitude, perhaps some miracle had occurred without his trying, but something had sparked this inside Belle and that spark had carried over to him until he felt a flutter of hope stirring deep inside a strongbox where he thought he had locked it away for good. Now, with a few simple kisses, Belle had ripped the lid off like Pandora’s box, digging her hands around the contents as if she owned them.

He faltered then, dropping the scissors down with a clatter.

“What is it?” she murmured, glancing quickly from his left eye and right, trying to guess the reason for his reaction. “Why did you stop?”

“I think that’s probably enough don’t you?” he said, swallowing painfully.

She blinked at him, her eyelashes softly fluttering against her cheeks. “Do you?” she asked, looking up at him coyly.

He inhaled sharply. “No. Not even remotely.”

“Well, I don’t want you to stop either,” she said, her face turned up towards him, open and honest. “And, besides, my toes are beginning to hurt.”

Her toes? He peered over the counter and realized that she was still standing on them in order to reach him. He glanced back at her, sheepish and self-conscious now that the spell had been broken. He only smirked a little bit when she shrunk three inches as she lowered her heels.  
  


“Do you want to, uh, come around to the back?” he asked.

Her eyes widened and a slow grin broke out over her face. “To the back room? No one ever goes back there,” she said with an eager bounce.

That was not the reaction he was expecting. His back room was a jumble of overstocked shelves and work surfaces that held various things in various states of repair — nothing to be excited about in the least, but he supposed the fact that “no one ever goes back there” made it a tiny adventure into the forbidden for Belle. Much like this whole experience probably.

He stepped away from the counter with a smirk, waving his arm towards the heavy curtain behind him. She rounded the corner, nearly tripping over the brass umbrella stand he used as a rubbish bin. She grabbed for the scissors, tucking them into a pocket as she squeezed by him, biting her lip to keep a grin at bay. She was failing horribly and her pleased look was infectious, he could feel the smile on his face grow by millimeters. He didn’t even try to fight it.

He held the curtain open for her, but she stopped just as she walked through, looking up at his hair curiously.

“Can I just…” she began then raised her hand to his scalp, rubbing at the stubble with the flat of her hand, her nails scratching him as she carded her fingers through the longer bit up top.

He’d just traded a handful of kisses with this beautiful woman, but it had been too long since anyone had touched him. Actually, willingly touched him and there was no way he could prevent himself from following her fingers as they moved. She was practically petting him now, cooing over his shorn hair, even as she traced a finger around the tip of his ear.

“I’ve never seen these before,” she murmured.

“Ah,” he said, smirking. “They’re called ears. You should get a pair, they’re really helpful.”

She made a face at him then flicked his earlobe with her fingers.

“You are horrible,” she told him, her eyes sparkling up at him.

He nodded, sagely, pretending to think about it. “So I’ve been told, many times,” he said. He was only teasing, but the smile was wiped from her face just the same.

“I never thought you were horrible,” she whispered.

“It’s a quip,” he told her, gently. “Not serious.”

“Still. I never thought you were a bad person. Even before…” her voice trailed away as she looked at his hair then back at his face. “Before.”

Embarrassed, he didn’t know what to say. He was horrible. He knew it, he’d cultivated it until he barely had to speak to send someone practically shaking in their boots.

“Well… he looked down at his shoes, suddenly aware that their playful mood was gone and that his opportunity for more kisses was probably lost, too. But, he thought, looking back up

“Did you want to stop?” he asked, meaning to ask her out for dinner, or breakfast, or both, or anything really just so he could spend more time with her. Any time she would allow.

She jerked her head, taken aback. “No,” she said, firmly. “I told you. Solidarity. You’re cutting it all off.”

His eyes flicked to her lips. “For a price?” he asked.

Her smile was back, a small, flirtatious turn of her lips that enticed him more than any provocative dress could have done.

She stood up on her tiptoes again, holding onto his shoulders for balance, but instead of kissing him as he thought — his lips already softly puckered in anticipation), she touched her cheek to hers, whispering, “I like your ears.”

She turned then and led the way into the back room. He followed her like a puppy. Of course he did, despite the fact that it was his shop and she was the guest. He had a feeling that any relationship they may be establishing at that very moment would be the same: Belle leading with him trailing her heels. Funny, he didn’t have any problem with that. He rather liked the idea.

She stopped in the middle of the room, looking at everything as she turned in a slow circle. “Wow,” she said, her eyes wide with wonder. “You have a lot of stuff.”

He scratched at the back of his head, the ghost of her fingers still lingering on his scalp. “Well, it’s a lot of junk. A lot of things in repair. A lot of stuff.” He grinned at her sheepishly.

She wandered to one of his workbenches that had the pieces of a cuckoo clock laid out. “You do this yourself?” she asked, awed. She didn’t touch any of the parts, scrutinizing them  carefully. “I never knew you were so versatile.”

Versatile was putting it too warmly, but he wasn’t about to quibble the point. “Keeps me busy. I like working with my hands. Helps me think.”

She glanced at him, curiously. “Think about what?”

Well, lately it had helped him come up with a way to raise money for her library, but he didn’t tell her that, just walked over to his desk and leaned back against it.

He watched her for a few moments while she walked around, picking up some pieces to examine, setting them back precisely where they had been before, which he appreciated.

“I have a box of books you might like,” he said after a while. He’d had them set aside for her forever, a carefully curated box that he added to whenever something interesting came through. He’d never thought he had the opportunity to give any to her before now and sometimes imagined having them delivered to her desk anonymously would be the only answer. He didn’t want to donate them to the library though, he wanted to give them to her for her own personal use.

As he expected, her head whipped around, her eyes wide and alit with anticipation. “You have books here?” She was in front of him in three strides, holding out her hand to grasp at his jacket lapel. He wondered if she was even aware of what she was doing.

He bowed his head. “I do. Most are kept behind a glass case up front, but I have several very special books that I’ve been saving.”

She huffed a laugh, a breathy, disbelieving thing that made him smile in return. “Saving books. What, for a rainy day?” she asked turning her face up to him. Her fingers spread, splaying against his chest, warm and present and probably able to feel the way his heat raced.

Caught now. “For a person who would… appreciate them,” was all that he would admit to even though he knew she would figure it out faster than he’d like. Knew that he was holding them for her on the off chance that she may be interested in them. Knew that he thought of her more than she was even aware of. How creepy he realized all at once. “Not very many book lovers in this town,” he said by way of thinly veiled explanation.

“Only one that I know of,” Belle whispered, her eyes searching his beneath her lashes. She had no fear of him, she’d already shown that much, but it was still disconcerting when she was so close he could count her lashes.

“Yeah,” he said, hoarsely.

Wordlessly, she reached into her pocket and drew out her scissors, pressing them into his hand with an urgency that surprised him.

She wanted him to kiss her. How fortunate that he wanted the exact same thing.

He stood up straight, sliding out from between his guest and the desk, turning them so she was backed up against it. She hopped up, sitting her pert bottom on top of paperwork without a care.

He picked a curl at random and cut, the scissors loud in the quiet solitude of the backroom, the only other sound was their breathing. The kiss was different than the others, crushing until she opened her mouth with a sigh and he felt the soft tip of her tongue caress his lips.

Gold was many things, but he was ever someone to let an opportunity go by. He met her with everything, stroking and nibbling and sucking at her until his toes curled in his shoes and his pants felt two sizes too small. There was nothing like kissing Belle. Nothing he imagined had even come close and he tucked each one away to be brought out at a later time, when he was alone and reliving this day. He broke away with a gasp, his chest heaving as he stared at her. Then picked up the scissors for another snip.

He didn’t know how long it took to cut off every lock of Belle’s hair — consulting the clock was the last thing on his mind, but when he pulled away for the last time, it was full dark out and there were curly chestnut locks piled up over his feet and scattered on his desk and he was cradled between her luscious thighs with the echo of her moans still lingering in his ears. Her lips were kiss-swollen and her cheeks were flushed as she slowly opened her eyes to blink up at him, the blue nearly swallowed by her enlarged pupils. He knew he must have looked about as kiss drunk as she did, but he couldn’t help but feel pleased with himself as she swayed toward him in the search for more kisses, before she caught herself with a sheepish smile.

He stepped back to inspect his handiwork critically, the offer to pay for a trip to the salon on the tip of his tongue.

Her hair bounced in a riot of ringlets around chin-length, though there were a few stray pieces that hung longer than the rest and it was a bit uneven at the chin.

She looked gorgeous.

“How is it?” she asked, holding onto the desk as she leaned forward. She shook her head, sending the curls flying every which way before they bounced back into place. “It feel so much lighter.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He understood the feeling, not just about the hair, but he felt lighter inside. Happier. He caressed the side of her face with a palm, before bringing it to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. He was stealing. It was wonderful.

“May I trade you for dinner,” he said against her lips.

“What do you propose,” she asked, turning her head to nip at his earlobe, the same one she’d flicked earlier.

Oh god, this is what death by a thousand kisses must be like, he thought as he nuzzled at her neck, letting his short hair scratch at the underside of her chin.

“A book for dinner,” he said, dipping his tongue in the hollow of her collarbone. She tasted perfect and he idly wondered if she would allow him to trim hair in other places in exchange for kisses.

She laughed silently, shaking her head at him. “You don’t have to trade anything for dinner,” she told him.

He shrugged a bit, scrunching his face up in thought. “Yeah, but, you’d be doing me a favor,” he said, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You see I have all these books taking up space and I tend to get hungry.” He settled his arms around her waist, holding her close as he looked at her.

“Do you now?” she asked, intrigued. “Just how many books are we talking about?”

“It’s a big box,” he admitted.

“That sounds like a lot of dinners,” she said, thoughtfully. “Might some be traded for, say lunch or… perhaps breakfast?”

He blinked at her. Breakfast spoke nights spent in someone else’s bed, a prospect he’d only dreamt of.

“Yes,” he said. “I believe those things are doable.”

“Then, my dear Mr. Gold,” she said, kissing him lightly. “You have yourself a deal.”


End file.
